Devil in Texas(35)

The senator reached for a pair of champagne glasses on the tray of a passing waiter. "Here," he said, handing one to his wife. "Drink. You need it more than I do."

"What I need is relief from this heat."

"Say the word, Sugar Plum, and I'll send you back to the hotel."

Poppy's chest heaved.

Baron smirked.

Cocking his head, the wily senator trained his gaze in the direction of the big-eared hick at the Will Call table.

"Tarnation, Collie. Is that the fella who's making my precious Popsicle melt? Good thing he sassed you instead of me, 'cause I would've plugged that hayseed on sight."

The air around Poppy crackled with chill. "Yes, by all means. Let us rid our lives of inconveniences, starting with marauding raccoons, that like to cannonball into bath—ow! Baron, for heaven's sake, watch where you're walking!"

Apparently, Baron had stepped on her toe. Cass wasn't surprised, since Baron had been looking at every woman in the park, except her. Now he was gawking at a particularly curvaceous Cajun whom they both knew. Clinging to Wilma's hand was a girl—approximately nine years in age—who was pointing with great excitement at a shooting star. The child was dressed in blue calico with a crisply pressed pinafore, white cotton stockings, and highly polished, black Mary Jane shoes. Her head was ringed by yellow sausage curls.

Cass arched an eyebrow—first at Wilma, since she was the last person on earth whom he'd expected to see entertaining a child—and second at Baron, who swung his wife so quickly in the direction of the Will Call booth that she stepped on Vandy's paw.

The coon yiked.

"Hey!" Collie barked at his boss's wife.

"Serves the varmint right! He's always underfoot."

"Don't mind the missus, boys," Baron counseled with his horsey smile, but irritation roughened his tone as he herded them away from Wilma. "Poppy wouldn't know what to do with herself if the good Lord made nagging a sin."

Poppy's eyes flashed green lightning. "Allow me to remind you, dear, that I agreed to risk my life in this trigger-happy boomtown, only because you promised to start taking your medicine."

Baron rolled his eyes. "Nasty stuff," he muttered to Cass. "Tastes like ashes mixed with turpentine."

"Honestly." As usual when Poppy was upset, she started fondling her relicario, the heart-shaped pendant bearing a drop of blood from each of her miscarriages. "You're worse than a child. I mix in molasses for you, don't I? What good is there in winning an election if you're too sick to do the job once you reach Austin?"

"No squirmy little liver bug is gonna keep me out of Austin," Baron flared, hiking his breeches and snorting the way an angry bull does before its charge. "I won over Lampasas County voters once, and I'll do it again!"

The Westerfields' bickering attracted the notice of a grim-faced Sid by the refreshment stand. The marshal had been conferring with a heavily veiled woman, who kept wringing a handkerchief. Sid directed his glare first at Baron, then at Cass's double-holstered rig.

The next thing Cass knew, the tin-star was headed their way.

"Howdy, Sid." Ever the politician, Baron pasted on a grin and pumped the marshal's hand. "Any news about that sniper?"

"'Fraid not," Sid admitted gruffly. For this hoity-toity affair, he'd traded his usual dungarees for fancy, black broadcloth and a silver bullet on a rawhide bollo. Standing well over six feet, Sid's balding head and barrel-sized chest were easily as imposing as Baron's.

"Perhaps you should question your friend, Rexford Sterne," Poppy told Sid snidely. "I daresay the Rangers already know who was crouching on that rooftop—and probably what he ate for breakfast. In fact, I'm tempted to wire the Rangers myself to find the elusive Mrs. Dalrymple. Clearly, she was a fraud. And probably a thief."

Cass stiffened as Poppy waved Sadie's handbill under Sid's nose. Poppy could be a bulldog when she sank her teeth into any scrap of evidence that might lead to Baron's paramours.

But Sid had bigger fish to fry. "Begging your pardon, ma'am," he said grimly, "but I did wire the Rangers—to help with another manhunt that has to take precedence. Seems like we've got a killer on the loose. Refresh my memory. When's the last time you saw Tito Ferraro?"

Poppy blinked. Two spots of color bloomed on her powdered cheeks. "M-Mr. Ferraro?"

"Now see here, Sid," Baron interceded testily. "Tito was in my employ, guarding my missus. Are you saying Tito is wanted for murder?"

"Tito's dead," Sid said flatly. "What the coyotes left of him was found this afternoon in a cedar brake, about two miles south of town. Doc says it was the bullet that killed him. But bullets don't make a man's tongue turn black or his eyes go yellow and buggy."

Poppy gasped, pressing a gloved hand to her mouth.

"Collie," Baron barked, "escort my wife to a proper seat. A lady's ears shouldn't suffer such tales."

For once, Poppy didn't argue, but Collie looked madder than a wet hornet to be missing this juicy bit of gossip. He dragged his feet as he herded her away.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Baron growled at the lawman. "You know better than to talk business in front of a woman."

Sid's flinty gaze was openly speculative as he glanced between Baron and Cass—searching for an incriminating reaction, perhaps? But Baron looked as stunned as Cass felt by the news of Tito's death.

"Tito left a note," Cass volunteered. "He was heading home. He wasn't familiar with these hills. Maybe he was bitten by a copperhead, became feverish, and got lost," he added, recalling how snake venom had nearly snuffed out his own life last year.

Sid grunted, turning to Baron. "You still have this note?"

"Hell, Sid, if I kept every scrap of paper that ever crossed my desk, I'd have to build another barn."

"Uh-huh." Sid didn't look convinced. "I heard Collie had words with Tito. I heard they argued lots of times."

Cass tensed. "Says who?"

"Says a witness, that's who."

Baron was frowning. "Collie's just a kid."

"Age don't make no nevermind. I was riding posse on my thirteenth birthday. Shot my first bank robber that year, too. And I'm not the only one who took to guns young," Sid added, drilling Cass with a dire glare.

Cass's jaw hardened. So much for his assumption that he and Sid were friends. "That hurts my feelings, marshal."

"Cut the crap, Cassidy. Don't you think I contacted a few Kentucky tin-stars? According to the Whitley County sheriff's office, Collie was arrested on murder charges in Blue Thunder Valley about two years ago. Seems like he was stealing coons from a taxidermist, who took exception to the thefts—and wound up dead."

Cass clenched a fist. No one knew better than he did how a youthful crime could ruin a boy's life. "If you wrote to Sheriff Truitt," Cass said acidly, "then he should have told you those murder charges didn't stick. Collie was released for lack of evidence, and the real murderer was shot by a bounty hunter."

"Whom you plugged," Sid accused.

"The bastard had just murdered a man! And he was fixing to plug Sera, Lynx, and Collie, whom he was holding hostage!"

Baron clapped a restraining hand over Cass's shoulder. "That bounty hunter had a stack of murder warrants against him, and Cass was exonerated in a court of law," the senator said in crisp, businesslike tones.

Sid's eyes glanced narrowly from Baron to Cass.